If you were born in the early 90’s like me—1992 to be exact, you probably get it. We caught the tail end of simplicity before the internet took over. Our childhood wasn’t perfect by any means, but man, it felt real. Even as time takes us through different eras, I still reminisce about that old farmhouse I grew up in. The dirt lane connected generations. It still holds pieces of who I am to this day.

The other day I caught myself thinking about all the things that made the 90’s so memorable. Before life got complicated, we experienced a kind of freedom. This was before phones were glued to our hands. It was also before everything became digital. There was a kind of freedom in how we lived, played, and connected.

So I made a list of some of the things that defined my childhood. If you grew up in the 90’s too, I’m willing to bet more than a few of these will hit you right in the feels:

• Disney VHS tapes with the thick clamshell cases (bonus points if you rewound before returning it)
• Goosebumps books (and now I get to read them to my daughter—she’s five and already loves the creepy stuff!)
• Big League Chew and candy cigarettes—because we were all trying to look like MLB players or mob bosses, apparently
• Friday night video store runs—spending 30 minutes picking one movie
• The green electrical box in the yard—our official neighborhood meeting spot for “classified” kid discussions
• Sega Genesis and having to blow on the cartridge to make it work
• McDonald’s PlayPlaces that felt like Disneyland on a budget
• Spending hours outside, only coming home when the streetlights came on
• Tamagotchis you had to keep alive like a digital pet child
• Game Boy – your lifeline on long car rides and rainy days
• Pokemon Cards, whether you battled them, traded them, or just guarded them like gold.
• Oversized Clothes – t-shirts down to you knees, denim everything, and windbreakers in wild neon colors.
• Space Jam – Michael Jordan, what else needs to be said?

When the Street Lights Ruled

We lived in a time before smartphones and group chats. We had a single universal signal: when the streetlights came on, it was time to head home. No GPS. No tracking apps. Just trust, instinct, and the sound of your mom calling from the porch. I used to roam the farm like it was my kingdom. I invented games and got scraped up. I learned how to solve problems without Google.

One of my favorite activities was acting out scenes from The Lion King. It was hands down my favorite movie growing up. I’d run full speed through the field near the creek, absolutely convinced I was being chased by hyenas. Every time I would catch up to my uncle, he would grin and ask, “Were the Hyenas after you again?” And I’d just nod, like I had barely escaped with my life.

Friday Nights at the Video Store

There was nothing like Friday night’s in the 90’s. That was our night. After a long week of school, there was no better feeling than knowing we were going to the video store. Not streaming, not scrolling—going.

I walked the aisles with wide eyes. My hands trailed through the covers of the cases. It felt like I was flipping through stories I haven’t lived yet. The bold fonts, dramatic taglines, those cheesy freeze-frame photos on the back. Even choosing one movie felt like an adventure.

Back home, you’d dim the lights. Popcorn was in the microwave. Someone would adjust the tracking on the VCR to get the picture just right. That satisfying click when the tape slid into place. The hum of the player. The static snow before the movie started. That was movie night. No distractions, no notifications, no “skip intro” button. Just the story, the room, the people you were here with.

The Last Generation of Presence

We didn’t have social media. We didn’t constantly compare our lives to someone else’s highlight reel. Attention spans were longer, and moments were deeper. If you were with someone, you were with them. Not half-scrolling. Not half-listening. Just there. Friends didn’t text—they knocked. They showed up. We were still allowed to be spontaneous.

Technology That Made You Work for It

Imagination Was the Real Playground

We made games out of everything—and I mean everything. A stick became a lightsaber, the driveway turned into a racetrack, and that big green electrical box behind the house? That was our hangout spot. Nobody in the neighborhood really knew why. It just seemed appropriate to be the location of our headquarters for important classified matters.

My cousins and I were all close in age, and there was nothing more I looked forward to than spending a summer day with them. Those summer days felt endless. Kickball in the yard was more than a game—we treated it like we were in the Superbowl. The bases were whatever the hell we could find. Trash talk was expected. Bragging rights lasted for days.

And when you lost? Especially to a cousin? It was demoralizing. Not because you lost, but because you had to live with it—see them at dinner, still smirking. That kind of smirk that just pissed you off. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure those summer yard battles were the earliest seeds of my over-competitiveness. Those battles laid the foundation for who I am now. The edge I have? It started there. I learned that even if you don’t have the most talent or athleticism, you can still outwork out-compete and outlast people. I still take that mindset with me to this day.

Sometimes Grandma would even join the action, stepping into the game with a mischievous grin. I may have even carried her to home plate to secure a win (she tells that story way better than I do)

No Filters. No Facades. Just Us.

Every photo didn’t have to be Instagram-worthy. In fact, most of them were crooked, blurry and unplanned—but they were ours. Imperfectly perfect. We weren’t staging our lives for strangers or filtering the flaws. We were too busy living to worry about how it looked. Our memories weren’t captured in curated grids—they were built in backyard dirt, inside blanket forts and on the ball-field.

There was freedom in not being seen by everyone. No constant notifications. No followers to impress. Just the moment you were in and the people who were in it with you. We weren’t performing for an audience—we were just being kids. Loud, messy, full of imagination and wonder. And in that absence of attention.. we found genuine connection.

Keeping the 90’s Alive—One Rewind at a Time

Now that I’m a dad, I find myself drawn even more to the simplicity of that era. It’s not just for nostalgia’s sake. There was something pure about the way we grew up. Now I get to share that with my daughter.

We have a VCR set up in the living room—yep, a real one. There are shelves of worn Disney VHS tapes. They still have that satisfying clunk when you close the case. Watching her eyes light up to the same animated magic I grew up on hits different.

We’ve even cracked open my old stash of Goosebumps books. I started reading them to her thinking the creepiness might be a little much—but I was wrong. What surprised me was how much she understands and retains even at five years old. She leans into the suspense, asks smart questions, and lights up at the twists like a little detective. She loves the spooky stuff, just as I did all those years ago. It’s a full-circle moment I didn’t see coming, but one I’ll never forget.

The Little Things Were the Big Things

Looking back now, I truly believe we were the last generation to understand what it meant to slow down—to let a moment to breathe. We weren’t chasing trends or trying to be seen by the world. We were simply there, with each other, fully present in a way that’s harder to find now.

These moments we used to take for granted—the laughter on the back porches, the long walks with nowhere to go, the quiet comfort of just being—they weren’t small at all. They were everything.

If you grew up in the 90’s, maybe this brought something back—a feeling, a scent, a memory you didn’t know you missed. And if you didn’t, maybe now you understand why so many of us hold that time like an old photograph: worn at the edges, but treasured.

Because we didn’t just live through the ’90’s—we loved through them.

Every simple, beautiful, unfiltered second. And in the end, maybe that’s what we’re all still searching for. It’s a time when life felt just a little slower. Love felt a little closer.